how does one do it when one doesn't even want to, how does one not even want to?
it's funny, this time last year when I was trying to actually do the writing every day, things really did come more easily. not every day, not every time, but mostly. the more i wrote the more i had to write. i guess i need to oil my rigs or cogs or wheels, that's it, that's the word, wheel. i need to oil it then spin it.
i need to write to write.
what a difference a year makes. i can not know with any certainty what i was doing at this exact moment a year ago. it would have been a wednesday, we would probably have had a family dinner and i wouldn't have been working. actually i may have been doing this exact thing only in a completely different place, literally. then i would have been sat high on an island, facing the kitchen, the sink and window, my mom might have been behind me on the couch watching craig ferguson. i may have had ear plugs in and might have been listening to bon iver, if i'd discovered them yet. my life in front of me, a whole year ahead, what i knew then to what i know now...no matter how hard i spin that wheel, there are no words.
now i lay in my bed, surrounded by a serene green, sheltered from the busy street by long, cream canvas curtains. the lady with elephants on her feet upstairs is getting ready for bed and her stomps i now find soothing. my boy lies snoring and sweaty beside me, my left foot tucked under his knee.
there is a lot still to come and i can not say i am prepared, ready or able for it, but as with everything else, there is no choice.
i am happy where i am and so there is one battle won. for now.
i must write and write and write.